


Not gay

by 0archangel0



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confused John, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sherlock in Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 16:33:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18944704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0archangel0/pseuds/0archangel0
Summary: *[not est.] John and Sherlock have both been invited to Mrs Holmes' 65 th birthday. Everyone assumes they are a couple although they came as friends and were both invited. A bit not good.





	Not gay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cam_elot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cam_elot/gifts).



> I have no clue what I am doing. No idea what this is. Enjoy it, I guess?  
> Beta-read by the amazing tiger_in_the_flightdeck. Thank you so much. It was a mess before.

*[not est.] John and Sherlock have both been invited to Mrs Holmes' 65 th birthday. Everyone assumes they are a couple although they came as friends and were both invited.)

 

The birthday party so far was terribly boring. Too many people, too many affairs, too many things Sherlock was not allowed to deduce. Mycroft had made him swear to either stay with him or to stay close to John to make sure Sherlock would behave. Obviously, he chose John.

 

So he followed his flatmate around the entire day. It didn't take long until the first guest, a particularly annoying and overly cheery aunt of Sherlock’s assumed they were a couple, because of course she did, and asked if they had thought about marriage yet. John responded with something that Sherlock didn't quite understand because of the blood pounding in his ears which left a kind of static in his head. He only heard the "I am not gay." part.

 

The aunt went on to talk about how she knew excellent wedding planners and how it was a shame they weren't a couple because they were so sweet and so on. It was all just static for Sherlock. John seemed to notice the tension in Sherlock's body and moved on to talk to someone else soon.

 

He talked to a few of Sherlock's cousins now who were asking John and Sherlock about their work. It all went well, Sherlock got to tell some good stories about deductions, such as the story where he saved John with a cake, and they all had fun until they asked if it was hard to be a couple when work was that dangerous.

 

"I am not gay," John repeated.

 

_The static in my head is so loud, I can't hear my own thoughts. I can't hear anything, just static, my heart is beating too fast, the blood in my ears is overshadowing other noises._

 

John and the boys finished talking. At some point, Sherlock noticed vaguely John was talking to a neighbour of Sherlock's parents now. A comment about how Sherlock's parents must be so happy their youngest son was in a relationship with such a wonderful man followed from another cheerful relative.

 

"I am not gay." That was John. Again...

 

_Static, accelerated heartbeat and increased perspiration. Am I ill? Do I have a fever or something? It's just transport anyways._

One uncle came over, the one that always got drunk far too fast, and supported himself on Sherlock's shoulder, shouting how John was a fine man and how he wouldn't mind finding such a man in his bed some day.

 

"I am not gay," John explained and helped the uncle sit down.

 

_Static. Accelerated heartbeat. Increased perspiration._ _A heavy weight in my stomach, accompanied by sickness._

 

His mother called for dinner, so they got a break from talking to others. Sherlock didn't eat.

 

He also didn't sit next to John.

 

His mother fussed over him, Mycroft scolded him for not eating and for 'ruining their mother's birthday again'. Sherlock didn't care. John was flirting with a neighbour's daughter, a girl who had been in Sherlock's class and had always teased him. She threw her head back and laughed- _that joke wasn't funny_ \- she shifted closer- _how can she dare_ \- she took John's hand. Sherlock felt sicker and sicker by the second and was glad when dinner was finished. He still had to follow John around.

 

Some friends of his mother, Sherlock didn't even know them, began talking to them. He answered their questions about the garden and the house meagerly, wanting to get away. They asked if he and John had a house with a garden - _no we don’t_ \- they asked if they have ever thought about children- Rosie is in play care right now, actually- and went on to explain how important gardens were for children- _the park is just around the corner_. Zoo and all- Sherlock stopped listening.

 

"I am not gay," John replied with a smile.

 

_Static. Accelerated heartbeat. Increased perspiration. Heavy weight in the stomach with sickness. A lump in my throat. I can't speak._

 

"Sherlock? Are you okay? You’re looking a little sick," John asked with an innocent and slightly worried expression.

 

No. No, he was not okay. The neighbour's daughter rejoined them, snuggling up against John and asking with false innocence "Maybe _Sherly_ was not aware you’re not gay, John?". The old nickname threw Sherlock back into his childhood and teenage years where everyone had called him 'Sherly the girly'. Old classmates’ faces laughing showed up in Sherlock's mind, them screaming at him, throwing all sorts of objects at him, pushing him, tying him up so he would miss the bus. "No, he has always known I am not gay," John responded with a puzzled look.

 

_Not gay. Static. Accelerated heartbeat. Increased perspiration. Heavy weight in my stomach with sickness. A lump in my throat. Tears in my eyes._

 

That gave Sherlock the rest. He couldn't cry in front of all these people so he ran as he had always done as a child. He only regained a sense for where he was when his wet pillow obstructed his airways. He was in his old room, filled with all of his old belongings. He had cried in there so many times. So many times that the tears wouldn't stop coming now. So Sherlock did what he had always done, he cried until no tears would come anymore.

 

_Everything hurt, everything is wet and disgusting. I don't want to get up again. Will mummy be very mad if I don't come back. Did anyone even notice? Probably not._

And then his mother knocked on the door as she had always done. Sherlock needed a minute to realize this was not just a memory, his mother was really here.

 

Apparently, John had followed him but when he hadn't gotten any response from Sherlock, he had fetched Mrs Holmes. Once Sherlock had opened the door, she pushed herself in. Her son had tears in his eyes which sent a pang through her chest. Red cheeks, red eyes, wet pillow, he had been crying extensively. She pulled her son into her arms forcefully and sat down with him on the bed, leaned against the headboard so Sherlock's head could rest on her chest. He was a bit too tall for her which made curling up with him somewhat harder but Sherlock was and would always be her baby boy when he was crying.

 

"Tell me what happened, baby bee?" she mumbled while holding Sherlock close with one arm and stroking his curls with the other hand. He struggled against her grip until realizing it had never helped. He had always struggled, then trusted her and felt better in the end. "It's Jawn." he sobbed into her soft jacket.

 

"Oh, my lovely baby bee. It's okay. " Mrs Holmes cooed gently, instantly understanding. She had always wondered about the trust her youngest son had in this random John-bloke. This random John-bloke who still hadn't figured out how Sherlock was in love with him and who had just broken his heart.

 

"I'm so sorry for inviting him, bee. I thought it would be good to have someone you like here. I'm sorry." she apologized before pressing a soft kiss to Sherlock's head.

 

He was looking up at her with all red and teary eyes now, claiming "It's not your fault. Mycie was right, caring is not an advantage."

 

She sighed. Yes, her older son who she was usually more worried about had a very questionable opinion about emotions and relationships. "He is not right. Caring can be so great, just look at paps and me. John is just not the right man for you, bee. We'll find you another one, a better one, okay?" she offered, hoping it would cheer Sherlock up. When he was in his teenage years and had fought with Mycroft about the importance of emotions and relationships, his mother and he had often joked afterwards how they would find cute boy- or girlfriends for Mycroft and Sherlock and what they would be like.

 

Sherlock buried his face deeper in his mother's jacket again, tears coming up again. "I only want Jo-o-o-o-hn." he sobbed and his entire body began shaking from the crying again.

 

It took an hour of gentle cooing and an extensive scalp massage for Sherlock to finally fall asleep from exhaustion and the strain he had put on his body. Mrs Holmes was relieved when her youngest finally fell limp in her arms. It was so hard for her to see her Sherlock that unhappy. She was sure today would have been a danger night if she hadn't have been here. Oh, if only Sherlock had a nice and caring boyfriend whom he could trust. She gently put him to bed now, covering him up and pressing one last kiss to his forehead before she left. She still had guests downstairs after all and there wasn't much she could do for her son.

 

Still, she never forgot. She always found herself glancing up at his window, searching for his face peeking out between the curtains. Her husband even asked if he should go upstairs and check on their darling, seeing how worried his wife was. She just shook her head no and mumbled: "He fell asleep". Mr Holmes knew that meant his youngest son had cried himself to sleep. Poor thing.

 

The rest of the day was uneventful, there was dinner, some drinking, some dancing, some laughter, and Mr Holmes brother- known as the drunk uncle- was found unconscious in the bushes like every other time before. Around 10 pm, people were leaving and only the Holmeses and John were left behind. The Holmeses had sat down in the living room to calm down a bit before going to bed. John came in and Mycroft informed him that the car would be there in 20 minutes and that he should pack his things since he wouldn't sleep here. John and Sherlock were originally supposed to stay the night. "Okay. What about Sherlock?" John only asked, feeling the tension in the room.

 

"He won't be leaving." Mr Holmes answered, his wife sitting by his side with his arm around her shoulders.

 

"Why not?" John dared to ask, now standing in the doorway with crossed arms.

 

"Because he doesn't feel so..." Mycroft started but was interrupted by his mother who jumped up and stood right in front of John.

 

The nice and matronly lady was suddenly looking a lot stronger and a lot more frightening. "Because of _you_ ." she almost shouted and stabbed John's chest with her index finger. "Because _you_ absolute idiot have been hurting him all day. Everyone sees how he is in love with you and just wants some love, even if he can only be your friend. And _you_ absolute utter arse tell people the entire day how _not gay_ you are while he is standing right NEXT TO YOU. Fuck you, John Watson. You hurt my baby boy and I will never forgive you. So pack your bags and go. I never want to see you here again." Mrs Holmes screamed at John, always stepping closer. John backed away until his back was flush against a wall. Mrs Holmes kept coming closer, screaming right into his face.

 

John could feel anger welling up inside of him, he hated being screamed at but once his brain processed what had been screamed at him, he deflated and the anger was gone. "He...loves me?" he asked completely shocked and surprised. He had not expected that.

 

Mr Holmes had by now pulled his wife back a bit and took her into his arms, soothing her with a big hug and protecting John from a furious and protective mother. "Of course he does." Mr Holmes said with an unbelieving shake of his head. "He really is a bit daft, isn't he?" he commented, addressing Mycroft.

 

Mycroft confirmed with a nod "Has always been. No idea what Sherlock likes about him."

 

John was still standing with his back against the wall, confused and without a clue what to do now. "Shit." he sighed and lifted a hand to his face, massaging his temples with middle finger and thumb. "I...I need to fix this, right? Can I fix this?" he asked into the room.

 

Mr Holmes only shrugged and Mycroft spoke for them all by saying "I suppose you can try but it is my brother's decision."

 

Right. Okay. He could work with that. John gave a nod and gestured to the stairs but the words got stuck in his throat so he just nodded another time and made his way towards and then up the stairs. He found Sherlock's door without a problem, thanks to the golden plate that clearly had his name on it. It would be polite to knock but what if Sherlock was sleeping? In that case, John didn't want to wake him. He stood in front of the closed door for another minute before entering without knocking. The room was pretty dark, there was barely enough light to see the long figure in the bed.

 

As John stepped closer, he could see the blotchy red face of his flatmate though. He looked younger. And overall more peaceful if one ignored all the signs of crying. He looked so lonely. There was something warm in John's chest as he looked at Sherlock's face, but it mixed with the heavy guilt in his stomach and made it even worse. He quietly kneeled down next to the bed so he could look better into Sherlock's face. Shit, he felt something for this man. He wanted nothing more than to hug him and to crawl into bed with him. John knew that wouldn't be appreciated though. If only he could prevent Sherlock from ever having to cry again. He just wanted his best friend to be happy. He gently let his fingers ghost over Sherlock's cheekbones, then stroked with his entire hand through soft ebony curls. The man on the bed shifted and began blinking sleepily.

 

"Sherlock. I am sorry. I think I might love you. Please don't be sad anymore. I haven't quite figured it out but...I _do_ have feelings for you." John whispered gently, stroking Sherlock's curls. He knew the man wouldn't remember much of this the next day. With half-open eyes, Sherlock mumbled in the saddest voice John had ever heard "But you're not gay.". It broke him a little bit to hear Sherlock's voice like this, "I am not gay. I am bi, Sherlock. Bi." John mumbled back with the tiniest of sad smiles.

 

It took a minute for Sherlock to process what John had said and he whispered back "Nooo, don’ go. Stay," before his eyes fell shut again. Now John really had to smile. Sherlock thought he had said 'bye' and not 'bi', how cute. Still, he wasn't quite sure what to do. Getting into bed with Sherlock would not end well if Sherlock really didn't remember this. And John didn't know if he was forgiven or not.

 

"John? Your car is here." Mycroft whispered from the door.

 

Oh. Okay. "Coming," John replied just as softly and dared to stroke Sherlock's curls once more before standing up again and leaving the room. He didn't look back, he wouldn't have been able to bear it.

 

Once his things were all stored in the car and he had gotten in, he wasn't surprised that no one was there to say goodbye. But maybe Sherlock would remember this night and he would be allowed to come back. He clung to that thought and let the driver drop him off at a cheap hotel close to the Holmes estate. John wasn't able to sleep that night.

 

Sherlock, however, slept through the night more calmly after John's visit. He awoke in the morning around 9 and was happy for a moment until he remembered all that had happened yesterday. He also distantly remembered John's visit but wasn't sure if it was a dream. His mother called for breakfast and for the first time since moving out, Sherlock got up to eat without John forcing him to do so. He enjoyed breakfast outside with his family although everyone was strangely quiet. "Excuse me for ruining your birthday yesterday, mummy," Sherlock said and she reassured him that he didn't and that she's had worse birthdays. Then he dared to ask what he really wanted to know. "What..happened with John? Did he go home with that girl he was flirting with?" he asked hesitantly.

 

His mother bowed her head, clearly embarrassed. "Well, mummy uhm...told him her opinion. Then he went to pack because she threw him out. I found him in your room, sitting by your bed. I suppose he was saying goodbye." Mycroft gave a short summary and under the table, Mr Holmes reached for the hand of his wife.

 

Sherlock nodded. It had been real. John's visit had been real. "Thanks," he said shyly and gave his mummy a kiss on the cheek. He really was grateful for his protective mother. Under the table, he sent John a text.

 

**I remember last night. Did you mean what you said? Want to come by? I promise I'll keep my mother in check this time. SH**

 

Only a few seconds later, the answer arrived. John had been waiting for a call or a message all night and morning long.

 

**Yes. And Yes. I am so sorry, Sherlock. I am not sure what I feel for you. But I miss you. JW**

 

A deep oppressive worry filled Sherlock's chest. But there was a spark of light and tingling hope as well. Maybe John loved him back. He didn't seem too sure of his own feelings though. His family noticed the hopeful lopsided smile that had crept onto Sherlock's face. "Why are you smiling so... stupidly?" Mycroft asked and got a little kick from his mother under the table.

 

Sherlock didn't answer, he only asked his mother "Mummy? Can John come over for lunch? We want to talk. "

 

She agreed to the meeting and even promised to prepare them a nice picnic so they could eat together more peacefully and in private.

 

Lunchtime rolled around and there was a beautiful green-red picnic blanket laid out half under the shade of a big oak for Sherlock and John. His mother gave him a basket with lunch too and promised she would let John in, he should go and sit-down. Sherlock, now in cargo summer shorts and a dark blue polo shirt, something he only really wore on vacation, sat down obediently and waited. Once John arrived on the door, Mrs Holmes pulled him to the side and threatened him not to hurt her son ever again or he would face consequences.

 

John agreed and was happy to be brought to the picnic blanket. He hesitantly sat down, not too close to Sherlock to give him some space and was still for a few minutes. he could hear Sherlock's breathing. And his friend smelled so good. He wanted to hear the beautiful baritone voice that always sent tingles down his spine too. Thus, he asked "How are you?" like a nervous teenager.

 

"Fine. I think," Sherlock responded with a little smile. He was still looking at the edge of the blanket which he was fumbling with but John could see his little lopsided smile. "So, you said that last night was real? And that you mean it?" he asked determinedly because honestly, at this point it was no wonder if John would leave.

 

John gave an enthusiastic nod. "Yes. I do have feelings for you. I don't know if a relationship between us would work or if you even want that but I'd like to try."

 

Sherlock gave a little nod and his smile got a little bigger. "Yes, I'd like to try," he said, still in the direction of the blanket.

 

John was not having it though. He tipped Sherlock's head up and in his direction with one finger and asked, with a deep look into blue-green speckled eyes “Sherlock, on a scale of 1 to 10, how much did I hurt you by saying I was gay as long as we’ve known each other? Be honest.”

 

The blue-green speckled eyes darted away, now nervous and upset again. _I don’t want to hurt John. He’ll be angry. Or sad. He won’t want me anymore._

 

John noticed and very gently let go of Sherlock’s face. “I promise you, I won’t be mad. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t _want_ you to forgive me right away. But I want to make it up to you.” he explained and suddenly he was the one looking down at the blanket and being embarrassed and slightly sad. If was only fair, he supposed.

 

It was silent except for a few birds chirping and the shaking leaves above them for some time that seemed to stretch too long.

 

“How do you want to make it up to me? You really don’t need to,” Sherlock whispered, his voice cracking already from the fear that John might be leaving again. Or- even worse- would want to make it up to him with material things or by being submissive or with sex. There were so many things Sherlock was not fond of.

 

“I’ll tell you once you have given me your score,” John responded, now more pulled together again.

 

It didn’t look much like Sherlock had a choice and he really couldn’t come up with a way out of this that would still lead to some kind of a relationship between him and John. So he hesitantly spoke. “In all the time we have known each other...since Barts… you have said that you are not gay precisely 1476 times, not counting the times you have implied it. Each time it was somewhere between an eight and a ten on your scale. Is that a satisfactory answer?”

 

John’s jaw dropped. That number was far too high for his liking but he knew it would be the correct one because it came from Sherlock. “It’s far too high. I am so sorry. Sorry isn’t even the right word. Shit.” he sighed, now massaging his temples again to lessen the stress. “I wanted to make it up to you with kisses. That would be 13, 284 if you like the idea of kissing me at all, that is,” he added.

 

“That is a lot of kisses. Not sure if I like kissing. But it is a nice idea. Can we go slow?” Sherlock asked gently, now pulling threads out of the edge of the blanket. He was trembling ever so slightly and of course, John noticed.

 

“We can go as slow as you like. Look at me?” he asked gently and cupped Sherlock’s cheeks to tilt his head up again. He was not going to kiss Sherlock since he knew that would not be welcomed right now. But he had an important question and honestly needed to look into the soothing eyes to ask it. Once his eyes had found Sherlock’s, he felt strong enough to finally ask: "Sherlock Holmes, do you have feelings for me and want to be my boyfriend?"

 

Sherlock looked down nervously, then up into John's stormy blue eyes and responded "Yes. I have feelings for you, John Watson and I'd like to be your boyfriend."

 

The bright smile in his face wasn't enough to express his happiness though and he jumped at John, knocking him over. John ended up on his back, in the garden, on a beautiful summer day and with his secret crush- now officially boyfriend- in his arms.


End file.
